


Kitchen mishaps

by Greenie (haithuong313)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Dubious Consent, Gentle Kissing, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Racism, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haithuong313/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: Dedue and Sylvain are in charge of preparing for the morale meal.It’s not like anything will go wrong, they are just making a simple Duscur dish.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is warned in the tag. Please pardon my crappy english （；´д｀）ゞ  
> I'm @Greenie313 on twitter, we have a Sylvain bully server if you are interested.

It was near the time of the battle of Eagle and Lion that the professor seemed to be tired. It still doesn’t refrain her from going out hunting for their morale meal, which ended up taking the entire team into a battle against multiple wild beasts. They still make it out like they usually do with the professor’s inhumane strength, but she ends up with a forced bed-rest.

“Please rest assured, professor. We would be alright in the kitchen ourselves.”

Byleth looks at the Duscur bear meat with pitiful eyes, she has been trying very hard to get this meat, and it makes Dimitri feel guilty. But Duscur meat is hard to prepare material, and the Blue Lion is not the best when it comes to cooking. If not hellishly terrible. From the way Dimitri could break _anything_ in his reach when he is anxious to the way Annette would put an enormous amount of sugar into anything. There is only one man who could save them all.

"Don't worry, your Highness; I will take care of it. You and everyone should focus on training for the next battle."

"But, Dedue…" 

Dimitri, though not saying it out loud, never wants to leave Dedue to do anything alone. He knows that everyone in the academy is at least wary of Dedue, if not outright hate him and try to pick a fight wherever they see him. Living in Fhirdiad for nearly ten years taught Dedue how to handle these situations: pick out the one with the biggest mouth, _show_ them the man from Duscur that they hate so much and also terrified of, and tell them to stay very far away. Sometimes that doesn’t work, and people destroy his belongings or herb plants, but most of the time, people leave him alone.

Dimitri still insists on him taking someone company, though.

“Sylvain, you will help Dedue with preparing the dish if you don’t have anything better to do.” Dimitri gives an order as the house leader.

“I was training, your Highness.”

Both Dedue and Dimitri give him a very disbelieving look. Sylvain shrugs.

“Ok, I guess I had enough training then. Let’s go, big guy before his Highness kicks my ass.”

Dedue actually doesn’t like Sylvain much, but he doesn’t want to oppose Dimitri’s decision. The guy is too loud and painfully annoying; he talks too much and it is all about imprudent stuff. But as the future Margrave, Sylvain can prove to be a useful asset to Dimitri even if he turns out to be a useless noble, there is still his title and his position of house Gautier. So, Dedue would need to learn to tolerate the guy if not now then later.

Besides, it’s not like anything will go wrong, they are just making a simple Duscur dish.

⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤

Except, everything went wrong.

Not until his cock slides well into the warm and intolerably tight channel of Sylvain did Dedue asks himself, _What the hell happened_? He vaguely remembers the conversation goes from just harmless banter to somewhat severe misunderstandings, and regressive thoughts of vengeance come unbidden. The tragedy of Duscur has always been a can full of maggot waiting to be unleased, that no matter how much you say that it has been in the past, no use dwelling on it, it would still come back haunting burn like hellfire itself. Dedue prided himself of control, but in the end, he is just human. They are all confined like caged animals in the phantom prison of the past.

It was much _easier_ than Dedue thought, to just ram his cock in a male body like that. There is a bit of a tear, he saw it, but it is not too worrisome. He expects it to be much _drier_ , but Sylvain was not dry. Well, they say he is a _whore_ , the kind of person who wouldn’t refuse any advance, he must be no stranger for this.

So Dedue keeps thrusting into Sylvain’s accepting body with the anger and the hatred he has always tried to keep hidden deep down in his mind that sometimes he even forgets it exists. There is nothing akin to gentleness or loving about it. He wants to hurt someone, anyone. He wants them to apologize, to plead, to beg for his forgiveness, for all the terrible things they have done to him…

The tiny sobbing and occasional trembling of the body beneath Dedue sort of bringing him back down to earth. He should have known better than to judge someone based on the label people give them; after all, that is the kind of injustice he despised with all his mind. Now that he is down from the mindless fury, Dedue starts to think again. This is a deadly mistake. He raped the heir of a noble house, the childhood friend of his Highness, a classmate. It doesn’t help that he is a dirty Duscur. One mistake and it is a ground for expulsion.

Sylvain is gripping on his arm, his breathing heavy, his forehead is damped with sweat. He is now relieved with the sudden stop of the onslaught, amber eyes slowly open to look at his attacker. The Gautier heir was so quiet. Dedue knows many people would scream and wail when they suffer; he is not so delusional as to think that this has been anything but horrible for Sylvain, and yet that was so little struggle.

“Are-are you alright…?”

Dedue asks, unsure what kind of answer he expects for such a dumb question. Sylvain is just as confused as him. Dedue also noticed a slight swell on his face because of the fight and a nasty bite on his collarbone… He is so dead.

“It’s… uhm… fine?” Sylvain finally answers and Dedue honestly doesn’t understand that “Not the worst I have had.”

What does that suppose to mean? Sylvain should be screaming murder at him right now. People yell at him or start to talk if he gives them as much as a look, or for simply existing.

“I’m sorry,” Dedue mutters. He doesn’t know what “sorry” can help in this situation, he just thinks that Sylvain needs to hear it.

“… Ok.”

“…”

“Well, I think we should at least finish… _this_.” Sylvain seems to stop trembling, at last.

Dedue nods. He is now rocking into Sylvain slowly, he somehow remembers _where_ it makes the red-head feel the most, and he keeps pressing. Sylvain moans, but it is much sweeter than before, now that it is no more forceful. Dedue wants to ruin him, make him a mess, a good mess.

Suddenly a tender hand touches the nape of his neck.

“May I kiss you?”

Sylvain asks, his eyes are hazy and his cheeks flush. Dedue leans into the kiss like the most natural thing.

⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤


	2. Chapter 2

Sylvain struggles to stand up - his legs are like jelly, and the dizziness makes him wobble like a drunkard on their way home; but as he said, it wasn't the worst he has had. Dedue’s strength though, is no laughing matter; maybe his strength is just next to his majesty himself. Therefore, you wouldn't want to be his target of hatred any day. Sylvain's body is bruised everywhere he was touched, the bite on his collarbone is still bleeding, his ribcage hurts, and there is a deep ache inside where the fluid is still leaking out. Sylvain wants to remember what is the start of all this, but his mind is mostly blank. Well, he is no stranger to this occurrence; sex, especially sex when he doesn't want it seems to mess with his sense afterward. It creates a blanket of fog in his mind that makes it hard to think. He would remember afterward, though, and he would feel terrible because it is usually his fault. Either with feisty women or men who hold a personal grudge against him. It has been like that, always.

"Just stay here and finish the dish. We don't want to draw any suspicions, do we?"

Dedue seems to want to say something, but then he stops. It is awkward as hell between them; usually, Sylvain’s partner (or in this case, perpetrator) leaves him before he recovers enough to recognize them or to remember what happened. He would skip the next class in that case. “ _Oh shit, it hurts,_ ” Sylvain curses under his breath. Each step is torture for him; unfortunately, he needs to walk fast or risk encounter someone on the way back to his room. Luckily, they all seem to be busy practicing for the big battle at the end of the month. He should have stayed practicing too, and this would not have happened.

_You shouldn’t have been_ **born** _, so all of this wouldn’t happen._

Miklan chuckles. He has been quite a monster when Sylvain was young, but nowadays, Miklan looks even more horrifying. Sometimes he is the monster with a jaw full of blood and black fluid, sometimes he is half-man half-corpse with part of his face a bloody mass full of maggots. Miklan laughs louder and louder; he has always taken pleasure from Sylvain’s agonizing pain. _It is alright_ , and he should be grateful because he is the golden child, the Gautier with crest, the desirable. He took everything from Miklan so he may as well _let Miklan collects the debt_.

“Don’t get me wrong, brother, you are always an egoistic bastard. I don’t mind seeing you in hell, though.”

The laugh stopped, but Miklan’s hands tighten on his throat. Sylvain looks straight in Miklan’s eyes, he is ready, always ready.

Except, those are all just illusions. Sylvain loosens the grip on his own throat, then lets out a weary sigh. He reaches for his medicine, there are several types but he has already get used to them like the back of his hand. He should listen to his nagging friends and stop fooling around, the fly is great but the drop is ten times more terrible. It is not like trouble would not seek him if he doesn’t face them headfirst; Miklan has never left him alone, so he likes to be the one in control.

Dedue has not been in his control. Or rather, his feeling toward the man. Dedue reminds him of his brother, so packed and intimidating, downright dangerous but also strangely calming. Sylvain knows he is a bit fucked up in the head to like someone that reminds him of his _monstrous_ brother (no pun intended, Miklan), but he has long accepted that there is nothing normal about himself. He knows Dedue doesn’t like him (same as any other Faerghusan), but he can’t stop himself from approaching the man. He knows that it would end in a disaster somedays. And yet… and yet…

He feels violated. Chewed up and spat out, tortured in the raging flame of hatred. It has always been foolish of him to expect anything but sadness and agony because it is the only thing that he ever deserves…

Sylvain tries to stop himself from crying. Margrave Gautier has since conditioned him to _stop being emotional_ or get it **worse**. His back still feels that phantom pain of thrashings. He knows it is just a stupid idea that strong men don’t cry, but it takes time for him to unlearn. He put his face into the pillow. He could cry, somedays.

_Knock knock_

Sylvain jerked up at the sound of door-knocking, his hand instinctively reaches for the sword next to his bed in case of an unexpected drill. The sedative seems to work, so he drifted off a bit, but Sylvain has never fully asleep even at night. One of his Father’s lesson that proves to be useful even at Garreg Mach. 

In front of his room, Dedue stands with a tray of food and herbal medicine with a very distinctive smell. Sylvain jumps back a bit; he was not expecting a visit. He thought that they would pretend nothing happens until tomorrow.

“I bring you food.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

Sylvain takes the tray from Dedue’s hands, and luckily, he is not shaking anymore. That alone doesn’t seem to be convincing enough for Dedue. In fact, it never seems to be enough to convince him. He is right though, Sylvain would skip dinner had Dedue not bring this meal to his room, he is in no state to walk down to the dining hall.

“This herb will help you heal. Please drink it.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not poisonous.”

“I didn’t say it is.”

“…”

“…”

“You seem to be… distressed.” Dedue says. Sylvain thinks he was about to say _terrible_. He has not changed out of his ripped and bloody uniform and is in the middle of his sedative sleep. It would take a bit of time for him to return to good o’ Sylvain, but not now. Too soon.

“It’s like that sometimes.” Sylvain shrugs. “It would all turn back to normal in the morning. You should return to the dining hall soon; they are surely expecting you.”

Dedue lingers there for quite a time as if Sylvain would commit atrocity the moment he leaves, but Sylvain is right, and he needs to go. That is… Sylvain didn’t expect Dedue to _care_. But he is also too tired now to think. He quickly drifts back into sleep. Or nightmare. It depends on how much life wants to toy with him.

It is a nightmare of the wild Duscur beast ripping him in half and feast on his body pieces.

⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤⩥⩤

Dedue didn’t get any sleep, and he honestly deserves that, especially after seeing how Sylvain was suffering. For a moment, he forgets about how he would be expelled if Sylvain decides that it would be a fitting punishment for him, or he is escorted back to Faerghus to serve his sentence for assaulting a noble heir. Whatever he would get, Sylvain had it way worse, and the damage might be permanent. All because of one moment of losing control, one moment that Dedue let the beast inside him win the battle.

Dedue curses himself because sometimes, between self-judgment, he thought that _maybe_ Sylvain deserves it. Because he is a filthily rich heir of a noble house that is spoiled rotten, he always gets in trouble with girls and neglects his study duty, and people literally call him a whore that would bed anyone… He always fools around while everyone is trying their best to study for the country’s future.

Sylvain who is _disturbingly mute_ when Dedue subjected him to the cruel violation; who is desperate enough to ask his rapist for a kiss; Sylvain who is more concerned about people finding out Dedue’s wrongdoing than his own bleeding body.

Dedue cannot look away from the truth anymore. 

Whatever awaits him in the morning, he deserves it.

Which is, nothing.

Dimitri still greets him with a happy face instead of ripping him into pieces first thing in the morning. They walk to the Training grounds like they usually do, Dimitri complains about how Sylvain left Dedue to take care of the cooking alone last evening, probably messed around with girls again. Which is far from the truth.

“We had… some kitchen mishaps, your Highness. That’s why Sylvain must return early.”

“Don’t try to shift the blame for him, Dedue. I think it is high time I should stop his laziness. I know he is just trying to have fun while he could, but he is crossing the line.”

At the Training grounds, Ingrid and Felix have already dragged Sylvain to practice. They also don’t try to kill Dedue or shout murder at him; they are busy pestering Sylvain about his “girl problem.” He… doesn’t look better than yesterday. Of course, he wouldn’t. Or, has he _always_ been like that? Sylvain is still pretty much reusing his daily catchphrases, flaunting his playboy demeanor… But his eyes are deathly tired and pained, his posture slightly inclines. His face still has a visible bruise, and there are some questionable marks around his neck too. Yet no one seems to have any question.

_“It’s like that sometimes.” Sylvain shrugs._

Felix has always been brutal to his training partner; he is now especially unforgiving to Sylvain. Sylvain, on the other hand, doesn’t show anything he is feeling at the moment. His movement is a bit sluggish, but he strikes with all his might, his mask remains intact. It is as if he forfeited his own body, ignore every signal of it telling him to stop. Powerful and destructive, that has always been Sylvain.

“Stop, please.”

Dedue stands between Felix and Sylvain when Sylvain’s lance is struck out of his hand. Felix looks at him, annoyed.

“Fuck off.”

“I think that he is unwell, your Highness. As I told you about last evening’s trouble while we were preparing the dish.” Dedue looks pass Felix to Dimitri, he knows that the Fraldarius heir would not listen to anybody.

“He seems fine to me.” Felix grunts, “But, does it matter if he is a bit _unwell_? Enemies wouldn’t care about your health problem. You will die the moment you stop to self-pity.”

Sylvain chuckles. He is used to this side of Felix.

“If that time comes, then I would stay at his back.”

Felix stares at Dedue as if he is talking about some foreign concept. For them Faerghus children, the battlefield is where they would always be alone should tragedy befall. Even when they are childhood friends, they were taught together, eat together, fight together; on the battlefield they could only rely on their spear. For Duscur people, they always stick together. If one is the sword, the other would be the shield at their back.

“If that’s the case, you should rest for now, Sylvain.”

Dimitri nods. Felix is still irritated, but he soon forces in his blade again as if nothing is a more pressing matter. Ingrid still thinks that Sylvain is faking it, but she doesn’t push the problem as she doesn’t like talking to Dedue.

Dedue comes with Sylvain outside. They walk to the less occupied part of the monastery.

“Thank you for getting them off my ass, Dedue. I’m grateful.” Sylvain winks. “I will go rest a bit; you go back to practice. I don’t want to borrow you from Dimitri for too long; he would get snappy at me later.”

“You are in pain.”

Dedue says, a matter-of-fact. Sylvain’s shoulders slouch a bit.

“Yeah, I suppose I’m not quite tough as I look…”

“You should have told them. About the assault.” Dedue gestures to himself. “This is not right. To you.”

“Nothing would change whether I say or not. They-” Sylvain points toward training ground “-wouldn’t suddenly fawn all over me the moment they know about the assault. It has always been like that, and I’m just stupid enough to keep end up in the same bad place.”

Sylvain tries to make Dedue understand, only for Dedue to stare at him with an unreadable expression. He looks… _beautiful_ like that, though – Sylvain thinks. Dedue doesn’t immediately give him a disappointed look, or the pitiful look. Sylvain doesn’t seem to have a chance to bullshit him, either.

“The only thing that would happen is you being expelled. I don’t want that. You have been good to Dimitri, that means you are good to Faerghus, for me that’s good enough. Forget about this, big boy, it’s not worth it.”

Sylvain pats Dedue on the shoulder, but Dedue catches his hand. Sylvain’s heart skipped a bit. Dedue’s hand is big and rough, and somehow Sylvain’s hand got extra sensitive. Come to think of it, he had never held another human’s hand, not since he was very small and he held Miklan’s hand, when they had not the idea of crest and lance and _the chosen_. He has a _virgin hand_ , it seems.

Dedue takes his hand and kisses his fingers.

 _Are all Duscur men like that?_ People have always said that they are stupid, barbaric, brutal. Sylvain wants to spit in their faces.

“Why did you kiss me?” Dedue asks.

_Ah, here we go…_

Sylvain is actually very bad when it comes to explaining his true feelings. Keep that a secret, please.


End file.
